


That I Will Never Escape

by theinvisibledisaster



Series: Haven't We Suffered Enough? [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bellamy Has Feelings, Bellamy not coping very well with the idea, Bellamy panicking, Declarations Of Love, Dramatic Speech (for once not given by Bellamy which I'm sure he's a little miffed about), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Love Confessions, POV Bellamy Blake, So much angst, and Clarke related PTSD, canonverse, clarke trying to sacrifice herself, lots of feelings, mostly panic, the 100 season 5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-03
Updated: 2018-07-03
Packaged: 2019-06-04 22:01:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15156512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theinvisibledisaster/pseuds/theinvisibledisaster
Summary: “Execute me; I poisoned you. Let Clarke live."“Very well,” Octavia raised a hand and a soldier with a gun pointed it down at him. He steeled himself for the bullet that would end his life, but before it left the chamber, Clarke yelled out.“No!”He jumped, surprised, when she moved suddenly, and he registered in his periphery as she snatched the sword from the floor and spun it in her hand deftly.“Clarke, what are you doing?” Bellamy frowned, his gaze switching to her, but a part of him already knew. His body was reacting to it before his brain could catch up – he felt his breath catch in his throat, and his heart-rate speed up.Bellamy's POV of Clarke trying to sacrifice herself in the arena, AKA there are a lot of feelings on both sides and this gets very emotional for my poor son.You don't HAVE to have read the other one first, or at all, but I really loved writing both, so I hope you enjoy them!





	That I Will Never Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Well, some of you asked, and it can't be said that I'm not a people pleaser at heart. Gosh I hope this pleases some people, because I worked really hard on it. Here's Bellamy's POV!

### 

_And it's you and it's me_  
_And we're sleeping through the day_  
_And I'm five years ago_  
_And three thousand miles away_  
  
_Do I have time? A man of my caliber stood in the street_  
_Like a sleepwalking teenager I know_  
_I dealt with this years ago_  
_I took a hammer to every memento_  
_But image on image like beads on a rosary_  
_Pulled through my head as the music takes hold_  
_And the sickener hits, I can work till I break_  
_But I love the bones of you, that I will never escape_  
  
**Bones Of You - Elbow**

Miller’s grip on his arm tightened and for a moment, Bellamy thought that maybe he would punch him. It wouldn’t be the first time one of Octavia’s men had beaten him that day. But instead, Miller drew him closer and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

Bellamy nodded, still facing forward as they walked, “Me too. It was nice knowing you, Nathan.”

Miller squeezed his arm once more before he opened the door to the arena and pushed him gently through it. He spun on his heel, taking it all in, much like he had done when they first rescued Wonkru, which felt like eons ago. 

He had tried, in between the beatings, to beg his sister for mercy, to explain that he had no choice, but her heart was closed to him now, and she had only become more enraged. Then, when he heard that Clarke had been recaptured, he knew that Octavia would follow through on her cruellest threat – making the two of them fight to the death in the arena.

The energy in the place was primal – people were yelling and shaking the cage walls, calling for blood, and his spotted his friends off to one side, all of them clearly worried and trying to look like they weren’t. He made eye-contact with every one of them, trying to communicate that he was sorry, and that he loved them, but he wasn’t sure how clear it was in the dim light of the pit.

Octavia was on her throne, the image of the Blodreina, Gaia on one side and Indra on the other, Madi hovering close by, and for a second he wasn’t sure why she was there, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

There was a scuffle near the door and he moved closer to it, instinctively catching Clarke around the elbows as she stumbled heavily, holding her up.

“I’m sorry, Clarke, I tried,” Bellamy said, and when she looked up at him, she looked determined. Her gaze quickly switched to clinical as it darted over his face. 

“Did she hurt you?” She asked, and he swallowed, trying not to think about the butt of a gun repeatedly hitting his chin, focussing instead on the feeling of her standing so close. 

“I poisoned her, Clarke,” he said guiltily, shame weighing on his chest. 

Clarke pulled herself away and stood to face him, her expression stern, “Had to be done, she was out of control.” 

He couldn’t stand the way she was looking at him, like she was about to convince him that he was worthy of forgiveness, so he changed the subject, “How are you here, I thought you and Madi–”

She interrupted him, “We were captured. When we met up with Murphy and Emori, they had Raven and Shaw and Echo with them, and they tried to bring us back here. I was going to leave, but Wonkru found us first. I told Madi to surrender, to keep herself safe, but… Octavia was never going to forgive me, and I knew that.”

Clarke pressed her lips together, the way she always did when she was frustrated, and he wished he could fix everything, if only to wipe that frustration from her features. A small frown took root between her eyebrows, “she’s gonna make us fight each other, Bellamy.”

He crossed his arms and glanced up at the throne where Octavia was standing, Madi at her side, “I _won’t_ do it.”

“I know,” Clarke replied, and his gaze dropped back to her, and her lips, where she was almost smiling, when she said, “I can’t kill you, Bellamy, not after everything I’ve done to keep you alive.”

He half-smiled back, but all he could think about were all the times she’d put everyone else over herself, not to mention all the times she’d put him over herself. He tried to shake off the sense that they’d been here before: in different circumstances, with different people, but the stakes were the same. It was like an inevitability – Bellamy and Clarke against the world.

Before he could say anything else, Gaia spoke, “as we invite death into this hall, we honour it. _Omon gon oson_.”

 _“Omon gon oson,”_ the crowd echoed back, and the shock of fear that went through him at those words was surprising, but the pang of guilt wasn’t. He kept his eyes on Clarke, watched as she looked past him at their friends, nodding solemnly at them. 

She and Murphy seemed to share some kind of understanding, a telepathic conversation like the ones Bellamy usually had with her, one that resulted in Murphy punching the wall in anger. 

“And as always,” Gaia said, “be the last.”

Octavia stood and threw down a sword with practiced ease, and they watched as it sailed through the air and landed between them. As it settled, clanging rhythmically against the concrete, he stared at it, pondering the utter ridiculousness of everything he and Clarke had faced bringing them to _this_ moment – the nuclear apocalypse hadn’t killed them, but this sword was supposed to. He chanced another peek at Clarke, but her eyes were closed and she was breathing deeply. 

“We won’t fight each other, Octavia,” Bellamy raised his voice to be heard over the crowd, and his sister sat forward to sneer down at him. 

“Then you’ll both be executed.” She responded coldly.

Bellamy grimaced. He couldn’t let that happen, not after everything Clarke had sacrificed for him. He had to be the one to do this, “Execute me; I poisoned you. Let Clarke live.”

“Very well,” Octavia raised a hand and a soldier with a gun pointed it down at him. He steeled himself for the bullet that would end his life, but before it left the chamber, Clarke yelled out.

_“No!”_

He jumped, surprised, when she moved suddenly, and he registered in his periphery as she snatched the sword from the floor and spun it in her hand deftly. 

“Clarke, _what are you doing?_ ” Bellamy frowned, his gaze switching to her, but a part of him already knew. His body was reacting to it before his brain could catch up – he felt his breath catch in his throat, and his heart-rate speed up. 

“Promise me you’ll keep our friends safe. Promise me you’ll take care of Madi,” she said steadily. She was staring back at him with that same determined expression she’d been wearing when she first appeared, and he realised with a jolt that she had been planning to do this all along. She was going to sacrifice herself for him, again. Dismay tore through him and he tried to come up with something, anything that would make her drop the sword, but all he could manage was her name.

 _“Clarke,”_ he breathed, and even though it was only a word, it felt like a plea. 

Something softened around her eyes, the way it always did when she knew his heart was breaking. It didn’t last long, and she lifted the blade to her throat, resolute, “Promise me.” 

He couldn’t help the instinct to move towards her, to keep her safe, even from herself, “Clarke, don’t!”

She mimicked his movement, backing away and pressing the knife in harder, “Promise me.” 

His heart was thumping madly in his ears, and he could see how much this was torturing her, how hurt she looked when he said, “You can’t do this, Clarke! What about Madi, she needs you!” 

“I’m not letting you die, Bellamy.” 

“Please don’t do this to me again,” the panic was really beginning to set in now, and his throat felt constricted, “I can’t go through that again, Clarke, _I can’t_. It nearly killed me last time. I can’t be the reason you die, _not again, please!”_

Her expression was one of anguish, but her arm never wavered from her neck. 

“I didn’t sacrifice myself for you to die for me. I did it so you could _live_ , Bellamy. You have to do that. You have to live,” tears were clinging to her lashes and he wished he had managed to pick up the goddamn sword first, but there it was, glinting in the light against her pale skin, “I should have died six years ago. I’m living on borrowed time anyway.”

“Clarke don’t!” Madi screamed, and Clarke glanced up at her, momentarily distracted. 

“I’m so sorry Madi,” she said, voice thick with tears, “I’m doing this to protect you. You and Bellamy. You have to understand, Madi. I love you too much to let you get hurt, not when I can stop it.”

He tried to edge towards her again, but without so much as glancing his way, she flinched back and he stopped, hands still raised between them. 

They’d been doing the same dance since he reached the ground. She stepped forward, he stepped back; he reached out, she pushed him away. It was like, for the very first time, they were out of sync. Even at the beginning, when they hated each other, they still maintained their waltz with practiced ease – an insult, a compliment, a step back, a step closer. Now, she was further away from him than she’d ever been, but she was standing right there. 

He barely heard Madi’s desperate plea for his sister’s mercy, or her reply. He was too busy trying to get rid of the image of Clarke with her throat open, pouring blood on the concrete while those sad blue eyes apologized neverendingly. 

She shifted her gaze back to him and it jolted him to action, “you can’t do this.” 

Clarke only shook her head, “I’m not killing you, and I’m not letting you be executed. It’s the only choice.”

Suddenly it was like the dam had broken and his terror was flooding out, “ _Goddammit Clarke, it’s NOT!_ Don’t do this! PLEASE!? I’m _begging_ you, please don’t do this. I can’t lose you again, I can’t survive that…” He trailed away, his strength waning.

“Yes you can,” she smiled at him reassuringly but he could see the tears still present in her eyes, “you can do anything. There’s no-one else I trust more than you, there’s no-one I believe in more. You’ll be okay.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing – did she actually believe that he would continue on if she died for a second time, or was she trying to convince herself that he could? He dropped to his knees, legs no longer able to take the weight of what felt like the universe on his shoulders. He ran his hands aggressively through his hair and noticed her gaze switch to concern and then heartbreak. How was he supposed to go on? She was his family, his home. He had spent six years trying to move on the last time, and he knew that if he lost her again, he would never recover. 

When he had been alone on the Ark for the first time after the rocket docked, he had sat down against a wall and sobbed until he couldn’t breathe, until his eyes were almost swollen shut. He had no idea how long he’d sat there, wallowing in agony for the loss of the woman he loved so much, mourning the fact that he’d never told her how he felt. He had smacked his head back against the metal, praying that the pain of losing her would abate, but it never did. 

Then, like a switch, her voice was there in his head. 

_“You’ve got to get up, Bellamy. They need you. Those people out there, they look up to you. What would I do, if I were here? You have to be enough for us both now, Bellamy – the heart and the head – for them. You’ve got to get up.”_

And just like that, he had found the strength to stand, to wipe his tears away and find Raven, standing by the window and looking down at the Earth as it burned. She had asked him if he thought they could do this without Clarke, and he knew what Clarke would want, because there she was, still there in the back of his mind, keeping him centered. It had helped, imagining what she would say and acting accordingly. The pain was still there, but her voice made it easier to cope with, and somehow, inexplicably, they had managed to move forward. 

Since returning to the ground, her voice in his conscience had been strained, clashing violently with the Clarke he knew and the impulsive, distant Clarke he found. The dissonance was almost unbearable, because he could still see her, in glimpses and flashes, but it was never for him anymore. So he had pushed it away, for the first time in six years, just so that he could breathe when she entered a room, or look at her without feeling his heart snap in two. 

That was all he could think about as he slumped, his knees digging into hard concrete, and he tried to cling onto it to ease the panic. Then, it was like a lightbulb flicked on in his head, when a small voice in the back of his mind, Clarke’s voice, said, _“You still have hope?”_

And he did. As long as she was alive, even if she was standing before him with a sword at her own throat, he still had hope. He looked up at her and said the only thing he could, “I need you.” 

Her eyes betrayed the effect those words had on her, and she swallowed, “No you don’t. You haven’t needed me for a long time, Bellamy.”

“I’m not letting you die for me,” he growled, almost believing he could stop her simply by force of will.

“I’m not letting you die _with me,”_ she said softly.

He felt his hope dissipating, “Please…” 

“She radioed you!” Madi’s voice was sharp, and it startled him.

“What?” Bellamy stared between the Clarke and her daughter, completely taken aback. 

“She radioed you, every day for six years,” Madi explained, “that was the first time I saw her – talking to you, telling you about berries that she found in the valley. She always looked happier when she was talking to you… but not since you’ve been back. Now when she looks at you, she just looks sad.”

He could have sworn he felt his heart physically shatter. The defeated slump of Clarke’s shoulders and the quiver in her voice when she addressed her daughter made his throat hurt and his eyes burn with tears, and he ran his hands over his face, trying to pull himself together. 

“You do!” She insisted, “Every time you look at him, you look lonely.”

Bellamy couldn’t breathe: she was unhappy, and he was making her feel that way. He was dimly aware that the noise of the crowd had lessened slightly, or maybe it was just drowned out by the roar of blood in his ears. He wasn't even sure time was passing - nothing made sense to him anymore, and oxygen felt like a luxury he didn't deserve.

Clarke’s voice pierced the air, “Lexa was _wrong_. Octavia is _wrong!_ Love isn’t weakness. Its _never_ been weakness. Love is what kept us all going so long. Without Lincoln’s love for her, Octavia wouldn’t even be here. Lincoln loved you, Octavia. His death was senseless and tragic, but it was caused by Pike. A man who lived his life by values that completely opposed Lincoln’s – hatred and revenge. Lincoln died at the hands of a man who saw love as weakness… Without Bellamy’s love for you, you would have died starving on the Ark.”

Bellamy felt that like a gut-punch – the responsibility to take care of his sister, the thing he’d failed at more than anything else. He hadn’t kept her hidden, he hadn’t protected her from losing the love of her life, he hadn’t stopped her sooner once he realised she was on the wrong path. He curled further in on himself, but Clarke kept talking.

“Without Raven’s love for Finn, she never would have been so determined to reach the ground. Monty and Harper have kept each other alive – Murphy and Emori, Marcus and my mom, Miller and Jackson – you keep each other balanced,” she started listing off her friends, telling them individually how much she cared about them, even Octavia, “You were my family. Family looks out for each other… and Madi… I love you so much. More than I could possibly say. Bellamy will take care of you, I promise. You’ll be okay.”

He tried to remember how to breathe, how to function but he didn’t know how to cope with Clarke leaving him with custody of her daughter, and he just buried his head even further into his hands. 

“Bellamy…” She said, and her voice was gentle, even a little scared, “I have been… I have been in love with you–”

His heart stopped. His head shot up and he stared at her, wide-eyed, drowning in wave after wave of anguish. She loved him.

“– for nearly seven years. It took me so long to admit it to myself. After Lexa, I swore I would never open up like that again, but I was foolish, and blind. I opened my heart to you before she even had a foot in the door. I loved Lexa, but I've _always loved you_. Then, once I realised… you were gone. You had always been there, and then you were just… _gone_. I should have said it sooner.”

If he thought he couldn’t breathe before, that was nothing. His body seemed to have completely forgotten that he needed oxygen to survive, and his lungs were burning, screaming at him to just _inhale_. He got to his feet and took a shaky step forward, “Clarke–”

“It’s okay,” she whispered, and there were fresh tears pouring down her cheeks, “I know you’re not in love with me. Maybe you were, six years ago, but… you’re _happy_. You made a life for yourself without me in it, and that’s been hard for me since you’ve been back, but I decided it doesn’t matter. My feelings don’t factor into it. All I want is for you to be happy.”

He couldn’t move, he couldn’t breathe, he just stood there. Heavy silence had descended over the arena waiting for his response, and he couldn’t even say a single word. He had wanted to tell her he loved her every day for years, wanted to kiss her and hold her and tell her how he felt, but he had come to terms with the fact that he never would. Now, here he was, the opportunity to just say the words right in front of him, and he couldn’t bring himself to take it.

“Just tell her,” Echo commanded, shoving her way into the pit and stopping a few feet from them. He looked at her guiltily, tried to apologise or say something, but she only smiled sadly, “it’s okay, Bellamy. Just tell her.”

Time stood still for a moment as he wrenched his eyes back to Clarke. 

“For god’s sake, man, tell her!” Raven yelled, stomping into the pit after Echo, “Man up, Blake.”

 _“Clarke,”_ he started, but he didn’t have the words ready, hadn’t for a long time. The speech he’d imagined giving her before Praimfaya didn’t seem like enough, but all coherent thought was beyond his reach: somewhere far away and six years ago. 

Her eyes widened and she shook her head frantically, “No don’t, please! _Please_ … Don’t tell me. I need to believe that if I do this, you’ll recover.”

“I won’t,” he said, and he knew without a doubt that it was true. If she did this, he would never be the same again. He stared her down, eyes imploring her to understand what this decision would do to him. 

The panic he felt was suddenly mirrored in her eyes, _“Bellamy don’t–”_

“I love you,” he said, and _god, was that what breathing felt like?_ The weight of the universe lifted just enough to allow him to get those words out, and now everything felt easier: moving, feeling, breathing. His lungs heaved oxygen into his system, inundating it, making him lightheaded, or maybe that was the release of seven years of pent up feelings. He didn’t know, but Clarke’s face in that moment was enough to convince him he had made the right choice – she was gasping at him, eyes still panicked, but her determination had slipped away, replaced with uncertainty.

The sword wavered a little, and he had to force his eyes not to look at it, to keep her attention where it needed to be so that he could edge closer. 

“Clarke, I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone,” now that he’d opened the floodgates, he couldn’t stop saying it, and he felt his body moving closer to Clarke as his mouth spilled the declarations he’d waited years to lavish on her. 

“Bellamy…” Her arm dipped a little lower, the blade slipping inches away from her skin.

“I am _in love with you_ ” he took another step, and another, and it was like they had slipped back into the same frequency, because she was swaying towards him instead of jerking away. All the strength he’d lost returned when he took a final step, “and I _cannot_ lose you again.”

Her eyes flickered and she moved the sword upwards, but he snatched it from her grip and threw it across the room, wrapping his arms around her to stop her from chasing it. It skidded loudly, clanging against the wall, but he didn’t hear it. 

He buried his face in the crook of her neck, one hand tangled in her hair and the other at her waist, breathing her in. She was like his own personal supply of oxygen, keeping him alive, sustaining him, and when she relaxed into his arms, he thought that given the chance, he might just dissipate into the air. 

His heart was beating against his sternum, and her pulse was loud and frantic, heartbeats mingling with his, rolling like thunder between them. They were together, holding each other like they were always meant to, and if Octavia executed them now, it didn’t matter, because there was this, and only this. 

_“I love you,”_ Bellamy murmured into her neck, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to say anything else. He wanted to say those words, and only those, for the rest of his life. He wanted to whisper them into every inch of skin on her body, to make her understand just how much he adored her, how much his heart broke when he lost her. She sighed into his shoulder he tightened his arms around her, pulling her ever closer. He breathed into the skin where a knife had been pressed just moments ago, trying to banish the image from his mind, and muttered, “Please never, ever do that again.”

“Seeing as we’re both about to die, it doesn’t seem likely,” she responded snarkily, and he realised she was right – there was no way out of it this time, not now. And he had never wanted to kiss her so much in his life.

So he did. 

When he extricated himself from her shoulder so that he could reach her lips, he glimpsed the anxious look on her face, the fear that he was pulling away. Then he was kissing her and cupping her face in his hands, and trying to use his thumbs to brush the worry from her face and the tears from her cheeks. She melted into it, hands threading into his hair, but he was still taken a little by surprise when she yanked him down further, deepening the kiss. When their tongues met, she gasped against his lips and he felt something ignite, deep and low in his chest. Her fingers were mapping out his features, trailing from his hair to his jaw to his neck and back again. She made a small contented noise and he nearly died on the spot – _where had she been hiding that sound?_ When he finally wrested his lips from hers they were out of breath, and he relished the feeling of her head against his; a gentle pressure that grounded him, kept him focussed. 

“If we’re going to die, I had to do that first,” he said, and he felt her smile against his cheek.

“What took you so long?”

He laughed, and their breathing was still ragged, arms still woven around each other, when something struck them around the middle. They stumbled with the weight of the girl, and Bellamy almost spoke, but Madi was focussed solely on Clarke. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” she yelled, “why would you do that?!”

Clarke sighed and released Bellamy, kneeling down. He felt the loss of contact like a punch and vowed to rectify her distance as soon as possible. 

Clarke brushed a strand of hair from Madi’s face, “because I love you, Madi. You’re my _daughter_. I want to keep you safe. With me out of the way, Octavia can’t use you as leverage anymore.”

“But I would have lost you,” Madi sniffled, and Clarke pulled her into a hug.

“You’re going to lose me anyway,” she explained, and Bellamy hands curled into fists at his sides at the thought. Clarke sighed, “at least that way, your last memory of me could be noble, instead of senseless.”

“It’s not fair,” Madi wailed, “you can’t let her do this.”

“I have to. For you. It’s the _only thing_ that makes sense. I’m not letting anyone else die for my mistakes.” 

“No!” Madi yelled, and she ripped herself away and stomped to look up at Octavia, still watching them from her throne. “You can’t do this!”

“They are enemies of Wonkru, Madi. I hope you do not betray us as readily as they chose to,” but there was an emotional edge to Octavia’s voice that hadn’t been there before. Bellamy knew his sister well enough to know that she was affected by Clarke’s speech, and his admittance of love to Clarke. She knew how hard it was for him to come to terms with his feelings, it was why she had taunted him with them the night he poisoned her.

He was about to say something when Raven stepped forward, “They did what they had to do, _like always_. They tried to stop you from doing something that was going to get everyone killed.”

“You know nothing about that,” Octavia snapped.

“But we do,” Monty said, as he and Harper shoved past Miller to enter the pit. Bellamy almost cheered; Monty was stepping up, even though he had despised this whole plan, even though he had sworn he was staying out of it, and said 'I told you so' when it went wrong. He was doing this for them.

“You wanted to start a war in the only green place on earth,” Harper said, crossing her arms, and Bellamy was so overcome that he wanted to kiss her, and Monty, or maybe he just wanted to kiss Clarke again, over and over and over until the end of time.

Monty sounded disgusted when he added, “You were going to use the worms from the desert to kill everyone, including our friends, because Cooper told you the worms wouldn’t survive once the people were gone. Cooper was wrong. The worms would have decimated that valley, and then we’d still be stuck here, but you’d be a murderer, and we’d still be running out of food.”

“Clarke and Bellamy were trying to prevent the deaths of everyone here, not just their friends in the valley,” Indra said, taking a step away from Octavia’s side. Blodreina turned on her with fury, but Indra stared her down, “they did the right thing.”

“Seda?” Octavia asked, “You defy me?”

“I taught you to be better. I have been letting you lose your way for far too long.” Indra nodded down at him, and Bellamy echoed the gesture.

Octavia was furious, “You let them kill Cooper?”

“Clarke wanted to kill you,” Monty said, “but Bellamy convinced her not to.”

Bellamy glanced over at Clarke, but she was staring at their friends, completely engrossed in the spectacle, an unreadable expression on her face. God, he hated it when he couldn’t see what she was feeling. It used to happen only rarely, but since he’d been back, it had been a common occurrence. He wanted to set about fixing it immediately, but she didn’t meet his gaze, she just kept it levelled at their friends as they bargained with Blodreina.

“Cooper was… what did you call it? An _acceptable loss?”_ Indra hissed, contempt in her voice. 

Shaw walked in, dodging Miller’s halfhearted attempt to stop him, “From the moment I met Clarke, she was doing everything she could to keep her daughter safe.”

“Bellamy puts everyone’s interests above his own,” Miller spoke up, Jackson on his arm, and Bellamy felt his heart ache a little for his friend, who he thought was lost to Wonkru, stepping in and standing up for him, “since the day we got to the ground, he’s made the hardest decisions, put himself in that position so the rest of us didn’t have to be.”

He wanted to envelop the man in a hug, but it didn’t feel like the right moment, which was proved right when Emori bellowed, “Clarke injected herself with nightblood to stop her mother from irradiating me.”

“Bellamy forgave me for everything I’ve done,” Echo said as she stepped to Raven’s other side. 

“Clarke and Bellamy have done nothing but risk their lives for us, all of us,” Murphy flashed them a wolfish grin and leaned lazily against the door to hold it open, “even those of us who don’t deserve it.”

Bellamy almost wanted to argue, to tell Murphy that he did deserve it, but he couldn’t find the words.

“She vouched for me to Skaikru – helped me make a life with her people,” Niylah said, and then suddenly it was like a switch was flicked and the arena started to fill up with more and more people; members of Wonkru that remembered something that Clarke or Bellamy had done to save them or the people they loved.

People were flooding into the pit, calling out, smacking Bellamy on the back, but Echo touched his elbow, and he devoted his full attention to her and nothing else. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, and she smiled, because she knew he truly understood how painful that must have been for her. 

“Please, Bellamy, _I’ve always known_ ,” she shook her head, “you’ve been in love with that woman for as long as I’ve known you. If you had known she survived, we would never have happened in the first place. I knew our time was running out the second you found out she was alive. I’m okay.”

“Still, it’s not fair to you,” he tried, but she only laughed and leaned closer.

She whispered in his ear, “I’ll be fine. Now go and be with the woman you love, because she looks a little overwhelmed over there.”

He followed her eyeline and noticed Clarke, her hands shaking a little at her sides as she watched Indra and Gaia moved to the front of the crowd. Echo’s hand fell from his arm, and he made his way towards the mess of wavy blonde hair that he had once thought he would never see again.

“Mercy will cost you nothing, Blodreina,” Gaia said, placing a hand on Madi’s shoulder, “but your wrath might destroy everything.”

Bellamy wordlessly slipped his arm around Clarke’s waist, and she didn’t even look at him, she just instinctively gripped at his shirt, both of them staring around at the sudden turning of the crowd against their leader, for them. 

Octavia stood and walking to the railing, surveying her people with a calculated expression. 

Clarke took a deep breath, her eyes squeezing shut, and he pulled her a little closer, pressing his lips against her temple. If these were their last moments, he wanted to be touching her, to show her how much he needed her. She leaned into him and he didn’t pull away, he left his lips resting against her skin, marvelling at how real she was, how alive. He wasn’t sure he would ever get used to it. 

The moment stretched out for an eternity as he looked up at his sister imploringly, silently praying to every god imaginable, and then Octavia said the words he thought impossible. 

“There will be no executions today.” 

Bellamy couldn’t help it; his body was moving before his brain had time to catch it. His hand splayed on her hip and twisted her, pulling her tight to him when he kissed her, savouring every touch of their lips, their tongues, noses against cheeks and hands in hair. Kissing Clarke felt like taking the first breath of clean air he’d ever drawn – like stepping off the Dropship into the forest and breathing real air for the very first time. It felt natural, like his body had been waiting for it his whole life. 

No matter what happened, he loved Clarke Griffin.

And she loved him back.

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS! I love all comments and kudos and anyone who takes the time out of their day to read this. You're all amazing.


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